By: Julie Dieck
Chapter 14 “Indian Attack!”
Alan hadn’t told Captain Henderson about the incident involving the young Indian, and Kathy had said nothing of it either to anyone. But since then, Alan had been unusually quiet and the others wisely gave the Irishman his space and didn’t pry. Karson had been the only one to inquire and his only reply had been a short; “just thinkin’,” so he had left it at that. That had been over a week ago.
Now the troop rode in columns of twos down the dusty trail. Up front, Captain Henderson and Sergeant Bates led the company back from a four day mission of escorting a group of Army officials from Washington through Sunset Valley to Fort Shiloh. It had been a long trail with only a few light brushes with the Indians, but nothing serious. They had all come out in one piece and the men were ready to get back to the fort and out of the saddle. But although they would be glad to get home, their faces were long and gloomy; for it wouldn’t be all happiness on their return. Captain Henderson had finally run out of excuses and had informed the men that Kathy had to be taken off the post and given a home elsewhere. Over the month, the men had grown extremely attached to the young girl and had come to think of her as part of Fort Bravado. They had all taken the news pretty hard, but the one who felt it most was the privet who rode near the middle of the column.
Simply letting his horse follow the rest, Alan rode along in silence; his mind full and his heart heavy. Kathy had been his responsibility since he’d found her and had come to look upon her as if she were his very own. He’d befriended and protected her; he loved her. He hadn’t cared so much for anyone since his father and Daniel. Again, he could feel the seams starting to rip at the edges of his patched world. He wanted her to stay with him more than anything, and he also knew Captain Henderson was right – she needed the love of parents; a real home. Alan knew that there was a way for both; he’d been thinking about it very much for the past few weeks. But every time he did, he always ended up shying away from the answer. He just couldn’t bring himself to start down that path; it just wouldn’t be right. After all; he was only a privet – she was a captain’s daughter.
For a long time, all was quite as they made their way through the valley. But suddenly, the peace of the clear day was shattered as a hundred wild cries seemed to screech at once in the distance, chilling the men’s very blood. The column came to an abrupt halt as a dreaded sight came to all eyes, hundreds of Indians came pouring over the rise like a swarm of ants. The rumble of hooves shook the very ground and the men fought to maintain control over their dancing mounts.
Sergeant Bates came up beside the captain. “It’s the Tawakoni, Sir! Chief Nabaw’s tribe!”
“We’ve got to get to cover! We’ll be cut down out here! It’s to open!” Henderson said, his voice tense as he kept a tight rein on his fidgeting horse.
“We can make a run for the woods! Their only a few miles up ahead! We might be able to stand them off there!”
“Let’s go!” Henderson ordered and shot ahead in full gallop as the rest of the troop followed.
Dust rose in one continuous cloud from pounding hooves as they spurred their mounts to utmost speed. They didn’t need much encouraging as the mass of painted Indians behind gave chase, whooping and shrieking while waving spears, bows, and rifles above feathered heads. It seemed they would never reach the woods, but finally the stand of sheltering trees came into view. New hope sprang up as they neared it; but it was to be short-lived. A hundred yards away, a salvo of rifle fire came from the trees and what hope had been revived, blew away on the breeze with the rest of the dust. They all came to a sliding stop.
“It’s a trap!” Bates shouted. “They’re already hold up there!”
“We’re caught in a crossfire!” someone shouted. And whoever it was; was correct. The Indians behind were still coming, now shooting both bullets and arrows. The men pulled out rifles and pistols and used them as fast as their fingers could work the triggers, but one by one the soldiers were falling from the saddle as they began to get picked off. They were in a bad spot and would be cut down within minutes unless they could get cover.
“We can’t stand this any longer, captain!” Bates shouted over the deafening noise, smoking pistol in hand.
“I know, but where do we go?” Henderson answered from the back of his rearing mount.
Just then, a dark chestnut horse came charging up and Henderson recognized Privet Branegan in the saddle.
“Captain! This way!” Alan shouted, waving an arm as he flew by.
Had it been any other officer, he might have been angered at a privet carrying out a plan of action without first consulting his C.O.; but Henderson trusted Branegan and he had a feeling the privet knew what he was doing. There wasn’t much time to have a discussion at the present anyhow. He motioned for the troop to follow and they galloped off after the chestnut. It was only a short ways before the captain saw where the privet was headed: a dry wash situated at the bottom of the slight incline; the woods at the top. There was a good couple hundred yards between the two and the wash ran parallel with the woods; at least it was defendable.
Henderson turned and shouted to the men leaning hard in their saddles behind. “Head for the wash!”
At a chance for cover, the soldiers drove their sweating mounts all the harder. They soon reached it and poured over the rim of the wide wash, filling its dry bed as they took safety in what little cover it offered. It was just deep enough that the horses were pretty much out of sight, but not with riders. They all quickly dismounted and scrambled to the rocky side. They pressed their chests into the dried mud, keeping their heads down as well as they could, rifles pushed out before them.
The captain noticed Alan nearby. “Good thinking, Branegan! At least we got a fighting chance now.”
“Sorry I didn’t discuss it with ya’, captain, but it t’were getting’ a wee bit hot out there for me likin’.”
Henderson grinned. “No need to apologize.” Then raising his voice he shouted, “Now, let’s make it a bit hotter for them, men! All fire!”
The roar that came after was almost deafening and continued on without stop. The air was filled with smoke and dust; bullets whizzed by in both directions while arrows quilled the rim of the wash. Many times, the Indians made charges on ponies. They weren’t trying to break through; simply getting close enough in order to cut down the “long knives” numbers to make victory all the more easy when their strengths became too small to hold out. With each charge, men fell on both sides; but there were hundreds of Indians to replace the ones lost, there were no replacement for the troop. The situation didn’t look bright – and neither did the near future.
Hours had slowly dragged by for the pinned company of solders, and with each passing minute the situation became more critical. They’d lost almost a quarter of their men and ammunition was beginning to run thin. The men were tired in both body and spirit and many were wounded; but continued to fight bravely. Finally, during a grateful lull in the fight as the Attacking Indians pulled back to regroup, Captain Henderson talked things over with Sergeant Bates, while the near soldiers listened in.
“We can’t keep this up much longer,” Henderson observed as he looked around at the weary men.
Bates nodded solemnly. “I don’t see that there’s anything we can do, Sir. What shall we do? Surrender?”
Karson spoke up from over his rifle barrel. “Isn’t that called suicide?”
“T’will be if we’re fool enough ta’ think they’d actually be honorin’ a white flag,” Alan added in. “And if they don’t just kill us ‘forehand; they’ll take what’s left of us to they’re camp. And I’ve a feelin’ it be a more desirable finish right here.”
“What do you mean?” Foster asked.
“Ya’ ain’t been in the army as long as I have, lad. I’ve seen some things that’d make them hairs of yer’s grow white on yer very spot. I’ll tell ya’ this much – if they do catch ya’, ye’ll be beggin’ ‘em ta’ finish ya’ off ‘fore they’re through.”
Foster shuddered. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“I agree,” Henderson said. “It would be to no avail. We’d only be condemning ourselves to a worse death than we’d get here. At least here we’ll die like soldiers and with honor.” He peeked over the top of the wash. Along the entire tree line, all he could see were hundreds of Indians and war ponies. So many against their small group – not very good odds. He gave a discouraged sigh. “If we could only get word back to the fort; they could send reinforcements. If a garrison came up from their flanks it would catch them in a crossfire.”
Having heard, Alan came crawling over. “I be willin’ ta’ try, Sir. T’wouldn’t take more’n an hour ta’ git there at most. I’d be back ‘fore dark.”
Henderson shook his head. “You’d never make it.”
“We’ve got ta’ try it, Sir.”
“You’d be cut down before you went a hundred yards. It’s suicide.”
“Sir, we’ve already settled the fact that we be dyin’ here if we didn’t surrender, and if we do, we’d be getting’ no better ah’ deal. If I stay, I be killed along with the rest of ya’ anyway. Way I see it, I got nothing ta’ loose if it don’t turn out right. Then there be the chance that I might get through.”
Henderson’s voice firmed. “It’s too risky. You stay here and that’s an order.”
Jaw clenched in frustration, Alan backed down; but Henderson saw the stubbornness in his eyes. He watched until the privet went back to his place, then began firing again.
A time later, there was another war whoop from the trees and they could see the rush coming, bigger than the last few. Dozens of hooves made the ground tremble as the screeching group advanced. Again, the brave soldiers fought gallantly despite their drawbacks. Finally, the depleted group of Indians turned their ponies back across the open and disappeared into the trees; that round done.
“Well done men! They’ve pulled back again!” Bates shouted, trying to keep spirits up.
Just then Foster’s high voice came to the others. “Hey! An Indian got through! He’s stealing the horses!”
With a sudden terror that the Indians had somehow slipped behind them, they spun around with guns ready. Further down, through wafts of gun smoke and dust the breeze was blowing back into the wash, they could see the figure of a man swinging onto the back of a dark chestnut; but he wore a soldier’s uniform.
Karson’s head shook in exasperation. “That’s not an Indian, knucklehead! That’s one of us! Ya’ need glasses or something?”
Peering through the haze, Gavin asked, “Who is that, and what’s he doing?”
Bates stiffened as recognition flashed across his face. “It’s Branegan! He’s going to try and make a break for the fort!”
Captain Henderson looked again. “What?! I told him not to!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Branegan! Come back here! Don’t try it!”
But the privet wasn’t listening. He was already in the saddle and spurring the chestnut into action. The gelding shot forward across the narrow wash and scrambled up the side between the men. Dried mud and rocks slid under the pawing hooves as they lashed out for traction. Bates jumped toward them, trying to grab the reins, but came up short and missed by a good foot. Alan leaned low in the saddle as he urged the chestnut up and over the rim. Everyone watched with breaths held as the two started at a neck-breaking gallop across open ground.
Henderson brought his gun to bear. “Quick! Give him cover!”
A volley of new shots rang out along the line as they tried to keep the Indians back in the trees as well as they could. Alan hung low over the far side of the saddle like a trick rider to make himself a smaller target. He held onto the saddle horn with one hand and his pistol in the other, firing as fast as the trigger could be pulled over the back his running cover. The Indian’s also fired, but the troop was doing a good job holding them back and Alan covered ground fast. Having run while the Indians were preparing for another attack, he’d caught them slightly unprepared for the break, but they still let him know very well that were unhappy about the escape attempt. Bullets whizzed by too close for comfort, but Alan kept on. Stopping or turning back now would mean sure death. Somehow, he had made it through the worst of the fire and the men raised a hearty cheer as horse and rider disappeared over the rise; now if he could just get by the rest of the woods, it was a clear path to the fort. With nothing to do now but wait and try to hold out, the men continued the fight. Spirits elevated at the prospect of help, they drove back the rushes with renewed courage and strength.
Henderson glanced at the empty rise. He shook his head with an almost amused sigh of admiration.
“The crazy brave fool. I only hope he makes it.”
After making it over the rise, the bullets were not so close anymore as the shots went wild from the growing distance. Alan stayed hanging on the saddle for a while longer just to make sure; then got up into the seat and leaned low over the chestnut’s pumping neck, flaxen mane brushing his face. They galloped on and were soon almost past the woods. Alan patted the chestnut’s foam-flicked neck as they rounded some high rocks and a hearty laugh filled the air.
“We made it, Blarney! Now on ta’ the fort, me boy!”
No sooner had words of victory passed his lips, when there was a wild yowl. Before he had time to act, something pommeled into Alan from above. He gave a sharp grunt as he spilled from the saddle under the driving weight and hit the ground with stunning momentum. Dazed and feeling as though every bone had been broken, he slowly tried to push himself up, but got no further than halfway on his knees before the spinning world made him falter and collapse again. He tried to figure out what happened; but the answer was given to him as a wild howl sounded right on top of him. Alan sharply rolled to his back, despite the horrible ache in his body. He only had time enough to see a brief sight of the painted figure above him and a raised war club. Alan thrust out his arms to push him back, but it was too late. The club came down and there was a sickening thud. Stars flashed through a spinning world; then everything went black.
Foster squirmed nervously. “Why aren’t they firing?”
“You want ‘em shooting at you?” Hayes joked.
“Of course not, but nothin’s happened for nearly an hour now. What’re they up to?”
Hayes dared to peak up a bit further over the wash. “Don’t know. But I don’t like it.”
Suddenly Bates raised a hand for silence. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
All ears strained. From the distant trees, the sound of hollow pounding came to them on the light breeze.
“What do those drums mean?” Captain Henderson asked.
“I know a little of Indian drums, sir,” Bates said. “But I’m afraid I’ve never heard that one before.”
“I know,” a Texan voice came soft.
The captain and lieutenant turned to Karson. The privet’s face was ridged and set as he stared off across the open ground.
“Well, what do they mean?” Henderson asked.
“It’s a dance, sir. The dance of …” Karson trailed off.
“Dance of what?” Henderson urged. “Are they about to charge?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, than what is it, privet? C’mon soldier, out with it!”
Karson finally tore his gaze away and looked sorrowfully at the captain. “It’s the dance of sacrifice, sir.” A beat went by before he finished. “They’ve caught a prisoner.”
Henderson’s gaze returned on the distant trees as the terrible meaning sank in. “Branegan.”
An awful quiet fell over the men; but it was Bates who voiced what was in every man’s thoughts. Softly he said, “He didn’t make it.”
The men looked at one another; the full meaning came over them all. There would be no troops coming; no help, no backup – no hope.
Fredricks shook his head. “Poor Alan.”
For a moment, Karson lowered his head, eyes closed as the feeling of total helplessness settled upon him.
(Chapter 15 will be released next week.)
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